


The Warmth of Snow

by darkgreenwater



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: M/M, a bleak but mushy christmas, as romantic as the circumstances allow, ofc the boys are in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:06:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21941875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkgreenwater/pseuds/darkgreenwater
Summary: James proposes an idea. Francis agrees with ulterior motives.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	The Warmth of Snow

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little idea I had inspired by today being the 24th! Merry Christmas / happy holidays!

"I don't see how this is going to improve our situation, James." Crozier lifts one skeptical brow and eyes James over the edge of his whiskey glass. 

"It's most likely not going to improve anything, I know that. But can't we, just for this one evening, enjoy ourselves a little?" Fitzjames smiles across the table. He squints his eyes and leans back. "Or are you afraid that good old Santa won't put any presents by the end of your bed?"

Francis gives a weak smile in return but stays silent. In his mind, he toys with the idea, contemplates the upsides that James has pointed out: It certainly would lift people's spirits and get their minds off this bleak situation they find themselves trapped in. It would keep everyone busy and distracted. Also, Christmas is the holiday of love, no? An idea forms in his head.

The captain downs his last bit of whiskey and nods slightly. "Alright." he says, making James' eyes widen. "Alright, go ahead."

James grins and claps his hands as he jumps up. "Yes!" He leans in close over the table. "You're not gonna regret this, Francis, I promise you."

Francis smiles and unscrews the gold-brown bottle. "Oh, I'm sure."

* * *

Light snow falls in eerie silence, dusting the stranded ships like powdered sugar. The entire crew - what's left of it - sits in the stomach of the _TERROR_ , their faces illuminated by the inviting glow of the candles around them. The spacious room is warm with open flame and body heat, and decorated with stars and snowflakes cut out of paper. Seal meat and bread is served, along with schnapps, tea, biscuits and chocolate. Some shipboys who brought their instruments on board, formed a small band and are now fiddling and singing Christmas carols in the corner on a makeshift stage. Some of the men are dancing, others eat and drink and laugh heartily, wrapped up in conversation. Crozier looks around from where he stands on the stairs that descend into the ship's belly. Everyone, even Collins, seems joyous and comfortable. They are as at home as they can be, thanks to James.

Francis spots said man on the other side of the room. Their eyes meet and James shoots his captain a smile as he lifts his tea cup to him. Francis nods approvingly. Their gazes linger for a second too long, it seems, before James' attention is torn away by Mister Blanky. Francis watches them for a moment, sees the contentment spread on James' face as Thomas hugs him in delight. An index finger firmly tapping his left shoulder pulls Francis from the scene. 

"Your cabin, Sir," Jopson whispers, "I've prepared it as you wished. Everyone seems to be caught up in the festivities, if you wanted a private moment?" His large grey eyes rest calmly on the shorter man, and Francis wonders whether Jopson suspects anything. The boy is bright, no doubt. Little goes past him. Does he-

"Should I go get Captain Fitzjames?"

"Oh, yes, sure. Tell him to be at my door in ten minutes. I have to make some preparations myself first." 

Jopson nods with a disciplined smile. "Of course, Captain." He moves past Crozier and, hands clasped behind his back, slowly makes his way through the celebrating crowd, pursuing James carefully.

Back in the captain's cabin, the fancy wooden table is set with two sets of fine silverware and wine glasses. A small candelabra sits between the plates and casts a cozy shine throughout the room. Crozier stands in front of his small mirror and adjusts his collar. A soft knock on the door announces Jopson who, upon Francis calling "Enter!", holds the door open for James. 

"Captain Fitzjames," Jopson announces matter-of-factly, "As requested." He gives a small smile in James' direction, urging him inside. 

"Francis? What's the matter?" James calls as he, turned to the door, watches Jopson close it from the outside. 

Crozier steps out from log-room where he fixed himself just a moment before. "Christmas dinner, James." He says. "I wanted to thank you for arranging the party. Shall we sit?" He points his open palm in direction of the table. James stands for a moment, hands on the backrest of his chair, and then it dawns on him; He takes a seat. 

"I suppose your gift to me is this romantic dinner, then?" The younger man smiles and his eyes twinkle in the candlelight. Francis smiles but doesn't answer; Instead he takes his wine glass and proposes a toast. "To you." He tips it in James' direction, takes a sip, sets it down and waits. James smiles in return, and lifts his glass as well but says, "To love." They hold each other's gaze across the table. The reflection of the candle's flame flickers in their eyes, mischievously dances up and down.

As James sets his glass on the table, his hand slowly, casually, moves forward on the polished wood, comes to rest beside Crozier's. They barely touch but both men feel their warm skin come alive with the intimacy of the gesture. Francis dares to touch the knuckle of his thumb to James', very tenderly, so as not to disturb him with the contact. James presses into it ever so slightly. 

* * *

After they finished their dinner, Crozier informs Jopson - without giving any detailed reason, of course - to keep everyone at bay should they try to disturb his and James' privacy. Jopson simply nods in return. He doesn't care to ask why. Francis is thankful. 

He leads James on deck of the _TERROR_ , holding a small lantern in his gloved hand. 

"It's snowing!" James exclaims gleefully. "I haven't had a proper white Christmas in years." He turns his face skyward, closes his eyes, and lets the snow sprinkle his cheeks, his hair, his shoulders. Then he sticks out his tongue and tries to catch some flakes to have them melt on his tongue. The sight of it makes Crozier laugh. 

"You look like a child."

James turns to him, beaming. "I haven't done this since I was a boy. It's fun, Francis, try it!"

Crozier lifts his eyebrows but smiles. This is a silly thing to do but James' joy is infectious - how could he say no? 

So the two of them find themselves sticking out their tongues and looking up, towards the cloudy night sky, the snow getting caught in their eyelashes and brows and melting on their hot cheeks. They walk around a bit to catch more and more flakes, until they accidentally bump into each other. James looks down at Francis and he watches the ice water in James' eyelashes melt and run down his face like cold tears.

"Merry Christmas, Francis." James says and Crozier thinks to spot an actual tear in the corner of his green eyes, glistening in the light of Francis' petroleum lantern. 

"Thank you, James." The captain replies. Their faces are so close now that the red tips of their noses almost touch. Both men can feel the warmth radiating off the other body, despite the endless ice surrounding them. But the ice means nothing. The ship on which they stand means nothing, and seems to disappear underneath their feet, giving way to some strange, foreign place they've never been before, a place faraway where polar days and never-ending nights and coldness have not been heard of. In this moment they cannot be reached by anything but each other, and as they touch, they forget about their inevitable doom. 


End file.
